


Attachments

by BoxOnTheNile



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alanna Jacobi, F/F, Femslash February 2019, Hanahaki Disease, Polyamory Negotiations, RvB Femslash February, background sargrey, hey look im back with my oc ruining my own life and credibility as an author, or the beginning of them at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 14:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17664050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxOnTheNile/pseuds/BoxOnTheNile
Summary: The flowers bloom at the very beginning of the war. Alanna, still in Ballistics at the time, cheeks dusted in gunpowder, hears the whispered rumors.“Did you hear?”"Did you know?”“The Feds have Emily Grey.”At first, she refuses to believe it. Then she's blindingly angry. Then she's just hurt. She'd spoken to Grey, once or twice, before the bombs, and both times had left her heart pounding and her stomach full of butterflies.She coughs up the first few blossoms that week and panics. But there'snothing, not even a petal, for months, until the next time she hearsEmily Greyin a report.





	Attachments

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so, every fic that Alanna is part of is a minor crossover with Wolf 359 and I mention a few characters. You need zero familiarity with w359, but if you _do_ know the podcast, you will get my references and i love you.
> 
> [These](http://black-flowers.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/black-mourning-bride.jpg) are sweet scabiosa, the flowers in the fic.

_Alanna is eight when she first sees the scar. She's not sure if she's allowed to ask, there still so many questions her family is not ready to answer, but she knows she won't be punished if she does. “Dan, I mean, Dad?”_

_The “dad” is new, Alanna still learning to use it and Daniel still learning to respond, so Isabel elbows him until he turns his attention from his knitting to her. “Yeah, starshine?”_

_“There's, um. There's a scar on your side, and I'm wondering what it is?”_

_“I've blown myself up a couple times, you're gonna have to be specific.”_

_“Here.” She points just under her ribs._

_“Oh, um, right. That one.” He clears his throat. “Remember that romance movie your aunt Renée wanted to watch? With the hanahaki?”_

_“You had it?”_

_“Yeah.” He sets his needles down and slides to floor to sit next to her. “Alanna.” She sits straighter; he rarely used her full name. “No one, no boy or girl or human being ever, is worth your life like that. You're always first.”_

_“They didn't say that in the movie.”_

_“Fuck the movie. No one, no matter how much you love them, is worthy of that. If you care that much and they don't care back, they don't deserve your love anyway.”_

 

* * *

 

The flowers bloom at the very beginning of the war. Alanna, still in Ballistics at the time, cheeks dusted in gunpowder, hears the whispered rumors.

“Did you hear?”

"Did you know?”

_“The Feds have Emily Grey.”_

At first, she refuses to believe it. Then she's blindingly angry. Then she's just hurt. She'd spoken to Grey, once or twice, before the bombs, and both times had left her heart pounding and her stomach full of butterflies. 

She coughs up the first few blossoms that week and panics. But there's _nothing_ , not even a petal, for months, until the next time she hears _Emily Grey_ in a report. She's moved up from Ballistics, the Republic needing surgeons more than explosives now, so she doesn't have to worry about being seen; she just shuts herself in a supply closet until she can breathe again.

They're dark red flowers, so dark they're almost black, and for seven years she suffers. It's never much of a problem–only when Doctor Grey pops up infrequently in reports, or occasionally in medical journals that the infirmary staff treasures more than gold. 

Felix finds her in the midst of a fit, once. He waltzes into her office like he owns it and is at her side in an instant, rubbing between her shoulders as she hacks the little flowers from her lungs. He does not ask, and she does not answer. They never speak of it, and that suits Alanna just fine.

Then Armonia happens. Doctor Jacobi is bolting down the Pelican ramp before it's fully down, straight for the colorful armor she can see. Simmons intercepts her.

“Tucker is fine, Doctor Grey has him, but Wash needs more attention than Carolina's field patch.”

Alanna's chest tightens at _Doctor Grey_ , but she has work to do, so she breathes through her nose and does her fucking job. Agent Washington is a mess, but he's not in danger of sepsis yet, not like Tucker. 

Oh god, _Tucker_. Jacobi considered him a friend.

She's at his bedside when the flowers catch up with her, hours later. The fit is a bad one, coughs harsh and hard, until several blossoms in a bunch drop from her lips. 

Captain Grif is the one who sees, his scarlet Sergeant beside him, the two of them supporting Agent Washington.

“I'd say we're busted but there's something much more interesting happening,” the captain says dryly.

She vacates the chair and helps them lower Washington into it, stuffing the flowers into her pocket as she goes. “There's no time for unrequited love in a warzone, Captain Grif,” she says.

He grabs her arm before she can leave. He's obviously not uncomfortable doing this with an audience. “Alanna.”

“I'm _Doctor Jacobi_ in armor.”

“Good thing you're stripped to your undersuit, _Alanna_ ,” he counters. “This is a stupid thing to die from.”

“It hasn't killed me in seven years, it won't kill me before this fucking war’s over.”

“What were those flowers, Doctor?” the Sergeant asks, voice gentle. 

“I'm not a botanist,” she says. “If you're in bed when I'm back on shift in six hours, Agent Washington, I'll… forget I saw this.” She sweeps out before she gets an answer.

Alanna knows what the flowers are, and what they mean: sweet scabious, or more colloquially, _mourning bride._

 

* * *

 

The third conversation Alanna Jacobi has with Emily Grey is a screaming match. They have different ways of directing their staff that clash sometimes, and while Jacobi has never been too proud to admit that Grey is smarter than her, _Jacobi is not an idiot._

The argument carries on until the generals themselves come break it up, ordering their respective CMOs to cool off and come back tomorrow. Alanna is almost to her quarters when the fit starts, worse than ever, and she ends up on her knees, tears in her eyes as she fights for breath between retching. 

It's not really vomiting, but she can't think of a better way to describe how her lungs seize and force flowers up her throat. 

The dark burgundy petals are specked crimson.

“ _Unfortunate affection,_ ” someone recites above her, and there is a hand offered to her. Alanna accepts it and comes face to face with General Donald Doyle.

“My family were florists before,” he explains with a shy smile. “I have some knowledge of–”

“Don't.”

Doyle blinks in surprise a few times. “Don't?”

“Don't name it,” Alanna says. “If I name it, I have to diagnose it, and then I have to actually treat it.”

“Why haven't you?” he asks.

She looks down at the blood speckled flowers on the floor. “At first, I didn't want to admit I loved her. Than I was the only one with the technical skill to remove them anyway.”

“I know, uh, that you don't… get along with Emily, but she–”

“Removing hanahaki that bloomed for you is considered a conflict of interests,” Alanna tells him, voice flat.

“Oh,” is all he can say.

“I survived it this long, General Doyle. I will see this war end. After that, well.” She smiled, bitter and hurt. “I have no intention of letting this kill me. There’s plenty of surgeons off Chorus.” She nods politely. “Thank you.” With that, she scoops up the scabiosa and retreats to her room.

 

* * *

 

 

“I remember you, you know.”

Alanna is sixteen hours into a ten hour shift; a squad had been hit by Charon’s mercs just as she started, and once she got everyone put back together, she started shuffling records so the other doctors had the best cases for their skill sets. It takes far too long for her to register the words, but she’s been awake approaching twenty-three hours. 

“Excuse me?”

“I thought your name sounded familiar,” Grey continues from the doorway to Alanna’s office. “Doctor Alanna Jacobi. Ossia, right? We worked together for a month or two. You were the Earthborn resident that everyone liked to tease. Your hair was shorter, then. It was cute.”

Alanna is thrown for a loop. _“Excuse me?”_

Grey smiles, sad and nostalgic. “I wonder how things could have been different.” 

Alanna's next breath somehow comes easier. “It doesn't matter now,” she says. “We both made our choices. We have to live with them.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Emily agrees. “Go home, Doctor. I’ll finish assigning cases.”

“I can’t,” Alanna admits. “I pulled a bullet out of my son today. He’ll be fine, it didn’t even cause any lasting damage, but… I see it every time I close my eyes.”

“Your son?”

“Private Matthews,” she whispers. “I’m terrified every time he leaves.”

Emily is quiet a second. “I keep a blanket in my office, if you believe will company will help?”

Alanna falls asleep in a chair in Emily’s office, hair free of its usual pinned braid. For the first time in weeks, she sleeps soundly, unhindered by nightmares or her own traitorous lungs.

 

* * *

 

_Fourteen year old Alanna hovers at the door to the garage, watching her father at his workbench, tinkering with what was certainly an illegal IED. “Dad?”_

_He doesn’t look up. “Yes, starshine?”_

_“How do you know if you’re in love?”_

_Daniel sets down his pliers and spins in his chair to face his daughter. “Come in, ‘Lana.”_

_“I can’t stop thinking about her,” she says, climbing into the other chair._

_“There’s lots of different kinds of love,” Daniel says. Alanna leans in. That tone means Daniel is talking about Him. The man he won’t name. “Sometimes—the good kind, I think—it’s warm. It’s… It’s me and your Papa.”_

_Alanna knows that her parents’ relationship isn’t easy. There’s a lot of unpacked baggage, things they skirt around or just flat out don’t acknowledge. But they always come back to each other, after every argument, with an apology and a compromise. She’s always dreamed about a love like theirs._

_“But there’s another kind, and it’s the one you need to be careful of. The kind where base yourself around them. Where you shoot to kill, tear each other apart and then come back for another round.” He rubs his thumb over a long scar on his arm, and Alanna’s stomach drops at the implication. “Don’t do what I did with Warren. Make yourself an Eiffel type of love.”_

_“Did I hear my name?” Her Papa pokes his head into the garage. “Oh, serious discussion.”_

_“Starshine has a crush,” Daniel tells him._

_Doug Eiffel groans, dramatically clutching his chest. “First Anne, now you! Why don’t children stay young?” He ducks under the spool of wire his partner throws at him. “You’re going to be fine, baby girl. Just be yourself.”_

_“You’re useless, Officer Eiffel,” Daniel deadpans. “That is such generic dad advice.”_

_“And what did you tell her, Mister Jacobi?” Doug counters. “Take her crush and set off a bunch of illegal fireworks with him?”_

_Daniel and Alanna fistbump habitually, like every time the fireworks come up. “Her,” Daniel corrects. “First of all, my daughter has a crush on a girl, because someone has to and it sure isn’t me. Second, I told her not to have a codependent, controlling relationship because I made that mistake, she gets to have her own fuck-ups.”_

_“You didn’t answer my question, though,” Alanna presses. “I know what to do when I am in love, but how do I know?”_

_“She makes you feel better,” Doug says. “The world could be falling to pieces around you, but she would tell you it’s going to be fine and you would believe her. Real love takes time, ‘Lana. But if you like being around her, and it makes you feel good, then that’s a good start.”_

_“Does being around Dad make you feel better?” Alanna asks._

_Doug smiles softly. “Yeah. Despite everything, against all logic, he makes me feel safe.”_

_Fifteen years later, when the world is falling apart around her, Alanna takes a nap in Emily Grey’s office and feels safe for the first time in a long time._

 

* * *

 

The fall from the orbiting dance Alanna had maintained into true, actual love is fast and hard. She remembers her father's warning well and keeps a tight grip on her sense of self, but she starts making excuses to be near Emily. It's like Ossia all over again, except not, because this time Emily recognizes her. They work together better, and their staff begins to follow their lead. 

Alanna ducks into the mess hall one morning, fresh off a shift and already half asleep, when it happens. She spots Emily preparing to start her on shift and heads her way, so she sees clearly as Sarge leans in to steal a kiss, and Emily lets him.

The tray slips from her fingers as the coughing starts. There's hands helping support her in moments, Matthews and Grif, as her lungs attempt to purge the flowers in them. There's so many, burgundy and scarlet, and she can vaguely hear Matthews’ panicked “Mom?”

_No one is worth your life like that._

Someone sweeps her up in their arms, and not even the cloying scent of bloody scabiosa can completely cover the gunpowder and motor oil that clings to Sarge. Matthews, _Nicola_ , is babbling terrified in his wake. “It's never been this bad, it's never hurt her, Doctor Grey, what's happening?”

“How long has she had hanahaki, Private Matthews?” Grey asks from Sarge's other side, her slender fingers pressing against the pulse point on Alanna's wrist. 

“As long as I've known her? So at least, at least seven years.”

“Seven _years?_ ”

“She would cough up a couple flowers every few weeks, it wasn't _dangerous._ There was no one who could take them out, I just thought it would get better!”

The fit eases for a second and Alanna gasps, drawing in the deepest breaths she can. She's dying, she's _dying_ , she has to– “Grif,” she rasps.

“I fucking told you so,” he spits, somewhere out of sight.

“Take care of him,” she begs, wheezing. “Please, Grif–”

“No, because you're not fucking dying, Alanna, you're the first doctor to give a shit about me n’ Sims.”

“Alanna.” The voice is hazy, and Alanna gasps for breath again. “Alanna, I need you to tell me who these are for. It's safer to handle it that way then to operate.”

“Em'ly,” she manages. 

“What?”

“They're yours, Emily,” a new voice says, and Alanna hacks up a few more flowers and manages another breath before placing it as General Doyle. “They're mourning brides, and they're for you.”

The hand on Alanna's wrist falls away. “Oh.” There's a pause, and the shoulder she's leaning against shrugs.

“We talked about this last night,” Sarge says.

“This is not how I wanted to do this,” Emily says bitterly, and they stop moving. Hands cup Alanna's face and she's forced to look up. Emily is shaking her head, face crumpled with worry. “You couldn't have waited a few more days, could you?”

“I have my father's sense of timing,” she manages to say.

Emily laughs, a little hysteric. “Of course.” And she presses her lips to Alanna's forehead. “You're going to be fine, okay, sweetheart?”

“‘M starshine,” Alanna mumbles. She coughs again, and it hurts, but it hurts different. The flowers that drop onto her chest are still bloody, but the edges are _withered_. 

“Oh thank God,” Emily says. “Come on, we need her on a ventilator. She's still not getting enough oxygen.”

Alanna decides that someone else can handle this and passes out.

 

* * *

 

_Alanna is fifteen when she asks. “The person that hurt you. Is he the one you had hanahaki for?”_

_Daniel swears. “Jesus fuck, you went right for the throat there.”_

_She's not afraid of being rehomed anymore, with her state-given surname 'Alvarez’ traded for 'Jacobi’ five years ago, but she still drops the subject immediately. “Sorry, that was–sorry.”_

_“No, no, you're fine, starshine, you. You're old enough to know everything, now. Garage?”_

_Alanna crosses the kitchen to the garage door without hesitation. The garage has always been the place for serious discussions, and it has always been a purely Jacobi space. Her aunts and Papa leave it well alone. They sit, and Alanna hands her father a screwdriver as he immediately starts dismantling his most recent attempt at an IED._

_“They were tiger lilies,” he says. “Hatred. Love and hate are not opposite emotions, but regardless, it's hard for a dead man to love you back.”_

_“Did you kill him?” Alanna has known for a while that Daniel is not a good person._

_“No, but. But I didn't stop him from being in a position to die, if that makes sense? I was angry and hurt and scared and I hated him and I hated myself because I loved him so much. Then I hated and loved Doug and Renée for a bit because they didn't let me die, too. It was a lot of feelings and suddenly I was coughing up orange flower petals.”_

_“So you cut them out.”_

_“I wasn't gonna let Warren motherfucking Kepler control me from beyond the grave. But, starshine, you don't ask questions without a reason.”_

_“I'm… afraid,” she admits. “What if it happens to me? What if someone doesn't love me back and I have to cut out my feelings for them?”_

_“Honestly? It's more terrifying when they love you back.”_

* * *

 

Alanna wakes to the steady beeping of a heart monitor and the rasp of an oxygen tank. She's unsurprised to find Nicola curled up on the hospital bed next to her. She's a little surprised to find Vanessa Kimball sitting vigil.

“Hi there,” her General says. “Normally, this is reversed.”

“Normally, this is reversed and I just had my hands in you in a completely unsexy way.”

Vanessa laughs, soft and weary. “How did you hide this from me?” 

“It wasn't actually a problem until the merge.” Alanna shifts Nicola further against her side. The boy doesn't stir. “I knew that, eventually, it would be. Either we'd have peace or we'd come out on top, and then I'd leave Chorus and have it dealt with. But you know what they say about best laid plans.”

“You would have just… taken Matthews and gone home.”

Alanna opens her mouth to say yes and hesitates. “I… never actually planned further than that. I think. Oh god, I think this backwater colony is _home_ now.”

It's an old joke, but Vanessa covers her mouth to muffle her giggles anyway. It's rare that Alanna gets to see her friend and not her General. “I think Doyle likes you,” Vanessa says wryly. “Didn't even insult me when I told him I was rescheduling our meeting to be here.” She looks haunted for a moment. “You were turning _blue_ , 'Lana. For a second, I thought you gonna suffocate right there in front of me, and I hadn't even known you were _sick_.”

“I'm sorry,” Alanna says. “It got bad so fast.”

“You fell fast,” Vanessa tells her. “Doctor Grey, huh? I'll have to speak with her.”

“You can do that now, General.” Emily herself comes into the room, holding a tablet. “Just let me finish this.” She looks at Alanna. “Are you lucid this time?”

“According to my monitor, my O2 levels are almost back to normal.”

“You're snarking, so I'm saying yes. I'm not actually leading your case, with conflict of interest, but both Doctor Anwar and Doctor Rhodes are fighting over that position. Your staff cares for you.”

“I replaced our last CMO and spent the next three weeks undoing the damage he did to internal communication and record keeping. They fucking love me.”

“They do,” Emily says. “They love you dearly.” She shakes her head at Nicola. “So does he. He hasn't left this room, you know.”

“I’m not surprised,” Alanna says, eyes lowering. Her stomach is fluttering and her face feels warm and… and they shouldn't. She can't remember everything from the last time she was awake, but she can _breathe_ , like flowers are gone. She slides a hand up the scrub top she's wearing. There's no stitches, no scar, and she looks up again, wide eyed. “You didn’t operate.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“But I can _breathe_.”

“Yes, you can.” Grey tilts her head. “Doctor Jacobi, when you’re discharged, would you like to see if we get some proper coffee?”

Alanna blinks a few times. “Well, mortar testing isn’t quite fireworks, but I bet we can rig up something.”

Vanessa starts snickering. “That’s your first date with everyone, isn’t it? Me, Nida, and now Doctor Grey?”

“Please don’t remind me of the three dates we went on, ‘Nessa, I’ll die.” Alanna glances down as Nicola shifts to press his face into her ribs. “Besides, it’s a family tradition.”

“We threw rocks in a minefield,” her son mumbles into her shirt. “Mom says you can’t be a Jacobi if you don’t like explosions.”

“I’m sure we can find a minefield,” Grey says drily. 

“Nessa, Nico, can we have a moment?” Alanna asks. Nicola’s hands grasp her shirt, and she plants a kiss on his hair. “I promise I’ll be here when you get back, sunshine.” He untangles himself reluctantly, ducking under the oxygen cannula and following Kimball into the hall. 

“What do you need—”

“What about Sarge? Because if this is pity, or I’m some kind of trophy, you’d better cut out whatever the fuck is left of these flowers now.”

“No!” she says. “The flowers wouldn’t have wilted if that was the case.”

“You’d be surprised,” Alanna says. “Answer the question.”

“I like both of you,” Grey says, moving to sit on the chair Kimball had been in a moment before. “And if you’re amenable, I’d like to continuing liking both of you.”

Alanna relaxes. “I could be persuaded,” she says. 

Emily answering smile knocks the air from her lungs in a completely different way.

**Author's Note:**

> [jeff cranor voice] hey. thanks.


End file.
